Utshaa Basu, Grade 11
UWC Mahindra
“In the Dream House” is a memoir by Latina queer author, Carmen Machado. Macado uses various frames, narrative tropes, and a unique structure to chronicle her experiences with abuse in a relationship with her ex, another woman.
Machado’s “In the Dream House” stands out amongst the happy, feel-good queer novels I usually find myself seeking out. Maybe that is why I found my eyes getting hot halfway through, my face tight with anxiety. For me, media and literature are things of escapism; yet, there are so many wonderful things about Machado’s novel that it kept me reading, in spite of the dread curling in my stomach. Certainly, there isn’t a point of climax in the memoir - no earth-turning point where the narrator realises her girlfriend’s true nature or the satisfying moment of her standing up for herself and leaving that I found myself chasing. Perhaps this is because Machado is the narrator, and her commitment to putting her experience down candidly for her readers reveals that this, this was the reality for Machado. I held on, waiting for the point where the story would turn, but nothing of the sort came. Instead, Machado’s girlfriend(her abuser) leaves her, and readers are left with the same blaring lack of closure that Machado herself may have felt.
Perhaps there isn’t a climax because of the unique structure the story follows, which made me fall in love with it. Machado utilises the second-person perspective of “you,” popularized by novels like Gone Girl, but rather than posing itself as a self-insert, the use of second-person in “In the Dream House” makes it feel deeply personal. I read this novel at a time when a particularly brilliant short story had me enamored with the second-person form- I attempted to incorporate it in my own writing and sought out books utilising the “you” perspective. Machado’s use of the second-person form, in particular, is incredibly skilled.
The second-person form can often get exhausting and gimmicky if used too much, but Machado’s unique style and structure keep the perspective from getting boring. Chapters of “In the Dream House” constantly vary in size - some are fragmented, one-liners and quotes, others may be longer and academic, peppered with footnotes citing literary and pop-culture references. There’s a particularly thrilling “Choose Your Own Adventure” chapter, which sends the reader in a loop that is both dreadful, mirroring Machado’s own inability to escape the “Dream House,” and brilliant in the way it changes things up.
Machado is brilliant like that - her book reads more like an archive of incidents of queer abuse interspersed by her own experiences and external references. And that brings me to what “In the Dream House,” and Machado, are trying to do. “In the Dream House” is reminiscent of Bechdel’s memoir Fun Home, and Levithan’s The Lover’s Dictionary, both books among my favorites. It reminds me of the latter due to the unusual structures both novels pursue, yet rather than an alphabetical format, Machado studies her experiences and other instances of queer abuse through narrative and literary frames. It is also considerably darker than Levithan’s novel. On the other hand, both Bechdel and Machado use their texts ways to break down, and in some ways, process, their own experiences, and match each other in their relentless use of literary references. Although Bechdel attempts to process her father’s death and her past through “fictional lenses” because those make the most sense to her, “In the Dream House,” most importantly, attempts to provide an archive of the history of abuse in queer relationships, as well as connect it to her own experiences. Readers cannot help but feel for Machado when she writes about “archival silence” - the idea that “certain histories never enter the cultural record.” And it rings too true - queer people have struggled far and wide to see themselves in any sort of mainstream media or literature, but what about queer abuse? What about the nuances of a queer relationship, their imperfections, its issues just like any other relationship? Machado’s difficulty in making sense of her experiences and convincing people to believe her stemmed from having never encountered narratives of queer domestic abuse- because very few records of them exist.
As humans, we interpret our realities and situations based on what we see around us- particularly in the media. We search for our own kind, and we search for our stories out there, shown to the world. There is something valuable and deeply touching about “In the Dream House”- for me, it is because this is Machado’s attempt to compensate and create for an archival void where she suffered from seeing her story absent.
Machado’s “In the Dream House” stands out amongst the happy, feel-good queer novels I usually find myself seeking out. Maybe that is why I found my eyes getting hot halfway through, my face tight with anxiety. For me, media and literature are things of escapism; yet, there are so many wonderful things about Machado’s novel that it kept me reading, in spite of the dread curling in my stomach. Certainly, there isn’t a point of climax in the memoir - no earth-turning point where the narrator realises her girlfriend’s true nature or the satisfying moment of her standing up for herself and leaving that I found myself chasing. Perhaps this is because Machado is the narrator, and her commitment to putting her experience down candidly for her readers reveals that this, this was the reality for Machado. I held on, waiting for the point where the story would turn, but nothing of the sort came. Instead, Machado’s girlfriend(her abuser) leaves her, and readers are left with the same blaring lack of closure that Machado herself may have felt.
Perhaps there isn’t a climax because of the unique structure the story follows, which made me fall in love with it. Machado utilises the second-person perspective of “you,” popularized by novels like Gone Girl, but rather than posing itself as a self-insert, the use of second-person in “In the Dream House” makes it feel deeply personal. I read this novel at a time when a particularly brilliant short story had me enamored with the second-person form- I attempted to incorporate it in my own writing and sought out books utilising the “you” perspective. Machado’s use of the second-person form, in particular, is incredibly skilled.
The second-person form can often get exhausting and gimmicky if used too much, but Machado’s unique style and structure keep the perspective from getting boring. Chapters of “In the Dream House” constantly vary in size - some are fragmented, one-liners and quotes, others may be longer and academic, peppered with footnotes citing literary and pop-culture references. There’s a particularly thrilling “Choose Your Own Adventure” chapter, which sends the reader in a loop that is both dreadful, mirroring Machado’s own inability to escape the “Dream House,” and brilliant in the way it changes things up.
Machado is brilliant like that - her book reads more like an archive of incidents of queer abuse interspersed by her own experiences and external references. And that brings me to what “In the Dream House,” and Machado, are trying to do. “In the Dream House” is reminiscent of Bechdel’s memoir Fun Home, and Levithan’s The Lover’s Dictionary, both books among my favorites. It reminds me of the latter due to the unusual structures both novels pursue, yet rather than an alphabetical format, Machado studies her experiences and other instances of queer abuse through narrative and literary frames. It is also considerably darker than Levithan’s novel. On the other hand, both Bechdel and Machado use their texts ways to break down, and in some ways, process, their own experiences, and match each other in their relentless use of literary references. Although Bechdel attempts to process her father’s death and her past through “fictional lenses” because those make the most sense to her, “In the Dream House,” most importantly, attempts to provide an archive of the history of abuse in queer relationships, as well as connect it to her own experiences. Readers cannot help but feel for Machado when she writes about “archival silence” - the idea that “certain histories never enter the cultural record.” And it rings too true - queer people have struggled far and wide to see themselves in any sort of mainstream media or literature, but what about queer abuse? What about the nuances of a queer relationship, their imperfections, its issues just like any other relationship? Machado’s difficulty in making sense of her experiences and convincing people to believe her stemmed from having never encountered narratives of queer domestic abuse- because very few records of them exist.
As humans, we interpret our realities and situations based on what we see around us- particularly in the media. We search for our own kind, and we search for our stories out there, shown to the world. There is something valuable and deeply touching about “In the Dream House”- for me, it is because this is Machado’s attempt to compensate and create for an archival void where she suffered from seeing her story absent.
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